


The Campaign

by TheVeganTargaryen



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Leverage, White Collar
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, F/M, M/M, Multi, Pining Neal, Slow Burn, past (unrequited) Neal/Peter/El
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 08:52:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4781285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVeganTargaryen/pseuds/TheVeganTargaryen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After faking his own death & finally escaping the FBI’s hold over him, infamous con artist, forger, and thief Neal Caffrey finds he’s no longer getting as much joy out of his life of crime. So he joins up with the Leverage crew: with their mastermind, hitter, and hacker all in place, his skill set is the perfect compliment, and Neal finally strikes the balance he’s been looking for between living life outside the law and helping people. Then Leverage takes on their next client: a Star(ling) City resident who desperately wants anyone but Oliver Queen--accused twice of vigilantism and murder--to become mayor. Neal & Leverage begin to run a con on Oliver to ruin his campaign, but by setting up shop in Starling, are they risking the wrath of Green Arrow and his team? And can Neal continue when he starts to fall for his marks?</p><p>(more than a general familiarity with all 3 fandoms is not required to understand the fic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Campaign

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been in my head for a while now; hope you all enjoy! You do not need to be very familiar with all 3 fandoms to understand the story (though it would certainly not hurt). I'm going to do my best to give a general overview of Neal, the Leverage team, and Team Arrow. If you're reading this and unfamiliar with anything you'd like explained in the fic/need clarification on any of the canons, leave a comment and let me know!

**June 2015  
Portland, Oregon**

“Neal Caffrey.”

He hadn’t been called that in a very long time, and yet he slipped it back on like his favorite custom-made suit. “Parker.” He gave the woman in front of him an appreciative nod as he sat down. She had no known last name and preferred to keep it that way (Mozzie would probably love her).

The casual gastro pub in the Pacific Northwest wasn’t exactly what he expected for a meeting place from the crew widely known only as Leverage. Tucked away in a quiet corner in the back, Neal still felt overdressed in his vintage Devore suit.

“I see rumors of your death have been greatly exaggerated.” The willowy blonde looked quite pleased at her own reference. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been decidedly less cheerful. Then again, the last time he’d seen her was easily over a decade ago. A thief’s social faux pas, they’d accidentally planned a robbery for the same museum on the same night. Plans got tangled, and neither of them had gotten out with their intended prizes.

“I needed them to be.”

“Why?” There was a subtle shrewdness to her tone that belied her airy greeting. “In my experience, Neal, grifters don’t disappear off the map the way you did without having attracted some serious trouble along the way.”

“I took down the Pink Panthers.” His final job consulting for the FBI as part of his work release program (tracking anklet and all) had been to dismantle one of the most effective and deadliest crews of their generation. So if he didn’t bother to quite hide his smug smile at the words, he felt it was deserved.

“We don’t have time to do our jobs and protect you from them,” Parker replied flatly, getting up to leave.

“Wait!” He decided to let his eagerness for a meeting slip out a little so she wouldn’t leave. “I faked my death until after their trials were over so they wouldn’t come after me. They’re all behind bars now; they won’t be an issue.”

Parker nodded, but not in his direction, as she sat back down. “Go on. Tell me why you want to work with Leverage.” A waitress came over with a small tray of appetizers, setting them down in the center of the table, and Neal waited until she was once again out of earshot to reply.

“You guys do good work. I’ve heard a lot of things about your crew. You don’t just steal; you help people. I want…” he trailed off, searching for the right words. “I want to help people.”

“Got a taste of it with the FBI but wanted to do it our way? People like us don’t operate inside the law very well.”

“How did you--” It had to be a guess. It _had_ to be. Neal had served four years of a prison sentence on an anklet, as a criminal informant for the White Collar division of New York’s FBI. But to be at his most useful, the FBI had publicly maintained he’d served his sentence and was out so no criminals would find out about his connection to the Bureau.

“We’ve got the best hacker in the business,” Parker replied with a bright smile, picking up what looked to be a small, gourmet slider and, before taking a bite, imploring him to do the same. “Try the food. It’s the best in the city.”

She wasn’t wrong, Neal decided, as he obliged. Actually, fresh off a plane from Paris, he could rightfully say it rivaled any meal he’d eaten within the past six months. “I can see why you picked this meeting place.”

She only nodded. “Let’s talk about your resume. Your work with the FBI was impressive. Your work before it was even more impressive. You maintained several successful aliases, can break into just about anywhere, your safe cracking skills could probably almost rival mine, your forgery work is basically undetectable in nearly every fine art medium there is… Oh, and you beat me to about half a dozen things I was going to steal for myself.”

“I hope that won’t count against me,” Neal said with a grin.

“Just the opposite, actually. And before we go any further: you know that we don’t take payment from our clients, right? Or”--and here she sounded just a little reluctant--“steal from our marks for our own gain.”

“I’d be fine with that.” He’d been busy since escaping to Paris. On top of his most recent scores, he was still sitting on a hefty quarter share of a once-in-a-lifetime discovery of priceless art. It was more than enough to keep him living comfortably for several lifetimes.

“Well, I can assume you’ve been busy over the past few months?”

“I have been. And that reminds me…” He pulled a velvet box out of his pocket and slid it across the table to Parker. “A thank you for meeting with me.” He, of course, had not forgotten but had instead been waiting for the right opportunity to present itself.

He knew he’d gone with the right option when her expression turned to one of sheer delight. “Neal, I think you’re going to fit in really well with us.”

\-----------

“He brought me the Grand Duke of Tuscany!” They were the first words out of Parker’s mouth after she’d taken Neal to a loft apartment above the pub where two men were waiting.

“What?” The first man looked up from where he was furiously typing away at a keyboard, with no less than six screens mounted on the wall in front of him. “He brought you...the...Grand Duke…”

“Of Tuscany,” Parker finished for him, impatient. “It’s a diamond.” And sure enough, the velvet box was open to display the 137-carat rose cut gem, its pale yellow-green tones glinting under the overhead lighting.

“Seriously?” It was this that roused the hacker from his chair. He was taller than Neal would have guessed when he was hunched over his desk. Lean, too, with muscle tone visible even underneath his long-sleeved shirt. (Maybe Neal was wrong, and this was the muscle of the group instead…)

“That was stolen in 1918,” the second man chimed in. His voice was rough and gravelly with more than a hint of southern drawl. “No one’s seen it since.”

“I tracked it down.” Finding that diamond hadn’t been easy; in fact, Neal was willing to consider it one of his proudest accomplishments.

“I don’t see how Parker couldn’t have hired you after that,” the second man replied, also walking over to join them and extending his hand to Neal. Though shorter than the first man, he was broader, but Neal wouldn’t call him stocky. Powerfully built, maybe. “Eliot Spencer.” And when Neal shook his hand--extremely firm grip and rough skin--he could say for sure that this man, instead, was the muscle.

“Eliot’s our hitter,” Parker confirmed a moment later. “And this is Alec Hardison: hacker.”

“You can call me Hardison. Everyone does,” he put in, also shaking Neal’s hand.

“And I’m the mastermind. I choose our clients, come up with the plan, and then come up with all the backup plans. All of our clients are people who have been taken advantage of or screwed over by the system in some way or another and can’t make it right on their own. And that’s where we come in. We meet and work out of here; let us know when you’ve found a place in Portland, and we’ll take care of security. And if you need us, the three of us also live here.”

The way she said it--and the casual, familiar body language between the three of them--clued Neal in to what he should have picked up on already. “So you three are…”

“Together, yeah,” Hardison confirmed.

Ordinarily, Neal wouldn’t have asked, but he wanted a better sense of the group dynamic of his new crew (and how he might fit in). For a moment--just a small moment before he tamped the small stab of jealousy down--he was reminded of Peter and Elizabeth, back in New York. Of what he wanted and couldn’t have.

“And we’re gonna need to talk about you bringing Parker expensive jewelry.” Hardison’s grin made it pretty clear he wasn’t being all that serious, but Eliot’s expression was neutral, and Parker was still happily admiring the stone, so Neal figured the next time he was going to uncover a long lost famous gem, he’d keep it to himself.

Nevertheless, he could see himself getting along well with Leverage.

\-----------

**November 2015**

“Oliver Queen’s running for Mayor.” They were meeting with a Starling City resident who’d driven about three hours from the aforementioned city to meet with them. Parker took turns taking each member of the team to the initial client meet up; this was the first time Neal had been invited along. He was taking that as a good sign.

“Mrs. Brooks--”

“Please, call me Joanne.”

“Joanne,” Parker corrected. “Politics isn’t normally what we get involved in.”

To Neal’s surprise, Joanne looked like she was almost in tears. It seemed like an overreaction to some tabloid fodder rich guy running for local government, but he supposed he couldn’t pass judgement until he heard what she had to say. “He just...it was his family who was responsible for the Undertaking a few years back. That earthquake...it leveled half the city, and that was their _plan_. I lost my son during that earthquake, and do you know what happened to the Queen family? Nothing.” The vehemence behind her words was, now, unsurprising given the circumstances.

“Moira Queen was acquitted of all charges. And meanwhile her son? He’s been accused twice now of being the Arrow.” The rash of masked vigilantes was something that had mostly stayed on the West Coast, despite making national news (Neal vividly remembered Peter’s various rants against the idea that someone would put on a mask and take the law into their own hands). “He’s been acquitted too, and I don’t even really know if he is, but...if he is? He can’t run the city. Either way, he couldn’t even run a company. And the city’s been through enough. We’ve had three terrorist attacks in as many years, did you know that?” Joanne’s voice was shaky now, but she continued on with a steely resolve. “The economy’s terrible there now. The local government’s already spent an arm and a leg renaming the city for no good reason in honor of some other billionaire who died in some kind of research accident. Any kind of insurance is through the roof, and most of us can’t afford to move. We can’t live like this anymore. I’m not just asking for me. I’m asking for Starling City--I’m sorry, _Star_ City,” she spat its new name. “We need the city back in the hands of someone who can actually take care of it.”

Parker, who had been listening quietly, finally leaned forward and placed a hand over Joanne’s, offering her a soft smile. “I think we can help you.”

\-----------

“How is this even happening?” Hardison asked as he pulled up page after page of info about Oliver Queen. As much as there was, most of it was severely outdated, with anything significant mainly able to be found from before Queen disappeared to a deserted island for five years. Neal had been shocked there wasn’t more about recent scandals; he either had someone pretty skilled in tech controlling what info got out on him, or he was better than they thought at keeping things out of the public eye. Either one was a disconcerting thought.

“The guy _peed on a cop_ once,” their own hacker continued. “What is this city? He practically shouldn’t even be allowed to run. As soon as he got his name cleared from the vigilante charges, he spent half of the past year taking off on some road trip with his girlfriend.”

A few clicks later pulled up a slideshow of paparazzi photos, all of Queen and said girlfriend (they were an attractive couple, Neal had to admit). The photos themselves were fairly innocuous: them outside of a restaurant, attending a baseball game, at the beach, returning to Starling City.

“Wait a minute,” Eliot finally spoke up. “Go back to that one.” The beach picture reappeared on the screen. “Zoom in. See that? That tattoo?”

Neal leaned forward on his elbows, squinting. “I see the edges of a tattoo under his shirt. Some kind of star.”

Eliot nodded. “Right at the collarbone. He’s Bratva.”

“As in _Russian mob_ Bratva?” Neal asked. “How can you even--”

Hardison and Parker chimed in automatically with Eliot’s response: “It’s a very distinctive tattoo.”

They all fell silent, and Neal’s brain worked overtime to try and weigh the pros and cons of taking the job.

“Maybe he’s not a vigilante,” Parker finally said, “but this guy can’t be Mayor. We’re doing this.” And her word was the final authority, Neal had learned very quickly.

“And what about that city’s little mask problem? I don’t exactly want to go there and end up shot full of arrows,” Hardison quipped.

“We work around it. We’re gonna need an angle…” She trailed off, looking past them, and Neal knew she was seeing the puzzle in her mind’s eye.

“Clearly he’s got skeletons in his closet,” Neal spoke up. “Any politician needs a fixer, this guy more so than pretty much anyone I’ve ever seen. I’ve got an old alias with that job. Hardison if you could--”

“On it.”

“It settles it.” Parker had that wild gleam in her eye that she always got before they started a job. “Let’s go steal a campaign.”


End file.
